Writers High

Another Sunday morning, another visit to the bagel shop overlooking Murphy Canyon. What is it about this place that turns on my creative juices? This time my eyes are drawn to the treetops outside the picture windows. Right outside, for the shop is perched on a hilltop within the canyon. Hummingbirds dart in and out, slurping nectar from nearly invisible flowers. They rise and drop, according to hummers' whims, an occasional ardent male performing a loop-the-loop. I know if I were outside I'd hear their distinctive chirps. My eyes also catch on spiders' ley lines, strung from branch to branch, silken threads on which they drop to pounce on prey.

What if I were to anchor my line, like a spider, pay it out and catch an updraft from the canyon floor? To rise up and up, higher, higher still. A writer's imagination carries me away, traveling while sitting still.